


Drowning in My Arms

by ancilla89



Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29399013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancilla89/pseuds/ancilla89
Summary: Looks at my story "Drowning" from Linda's POV.TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of PTSD and torture. Multiple suicide attempts. NO major character death! Hotline #: 1-800-273-8255
Comments: 10
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This goes along with “Drowning” chapters 1, 2 and 3**.

* * *

Linda is glad the boys are asleep, because after she gets off the phone—first with Dr. Dawson and then with Danny—she breaks down in tears, weeping for Danny…tears he’ll never let himself shed.

The phone rings again, and she picks it up, terrified of who this might be. “Hello?”

“Linda, it’s Maria. Danny’s okay, he’s safe right now.”

She nods. “I…I know, I just got off the phone with him and Dr. Dawson, the one who did his anger management last year.”

“He’s been here about ten minutes. I’m glad Danny called him.”

“What time is it? What happened?”

She’d sort of lost track of time after she and the boys got home from family dinner. From what Danny had mentioned about the case over the past few days, this could go one of two ways; and cases involving veterans, or people who were suicidal, always messed with Danny. This one, though, had been eating him up since the moment last Monday when he got the call from Gormley.

“It’s about 9:30.”

She frowns. Danny had left family dinner a little after 3. “What happened?”

“I didn’t see anything; I was downstairs with Tommy. I was trying to coordinate getting Mrs. Russell down there to take him home, when I heard screams, then a crowd started gathering; and I knew someone had…fallen, or jumped or…”

The detective clears her throat. “I ran up to the roof; Danny was just sitting there, his head in his hand. He was in shock; I had to call his name several times before he heard me. Once we finished at the scene, I drove us back here; that was maybe around 5. He filled out his paperwork; he’s been sitting at his desk since. He called Dr. Dawson. I’m gonna stick around, make sure he doesn’t try to drive himself home; he’s in shock, Linda.”

She nods; Dr. Dawson had said the same thing. “Thanks for looking out for him. Take care, Maria.”

Twenty minutes later the phone rings—a number she doesn’t know. “Hello?” she says with trepidation.

“Linda, it’s Dr. Dawson again; Danny gave me your number. He won’t let me drive him home, but I want to let you know that I’m gonna follow him home, make sure he gets there safely.”

She thanks him and hangs up, deletes his number.

“Call me any time, day or night,” Doc says before he hangs up. “That goes for you and Danny.”

She paces until she sees headlights pull up, hears a door slam. She opens the door, and Danny collapses in her arms.

He’s shaking from head to toe, and she holds him tightly, walks with him to the couch, and sits down.

He’s saying something, but it’s muffled because his head is in her breast.

She pulls away a little, kisses him, wipes the tears from his cheeks. “I couldn’t hear you, babe. What was that?”

“I couldn’t save him,” he whispers, and looks away; and then he’s sobbing, and she rubs his back because there is absolutely nothing she can say that will make this better.

* * *

When his tears have slowed, Linda pulls away a little. “I’m so sorry, babe. I’m gonna get you a drink of water, okay?”

He nods, follows her into the kitchen, sits in a chair. “I couldn’t save him.”

She pushes the glass of ice water into his hand. “It’s not your fault.”

He gulps the water so fast he starts choking, and she has to pound him on the back. He splutters, then hurries to the sink, and throws up.

Linda rubs his back. “Shhh, just breathe, Danny.”

He shakes his head and leans on the counter, breathing heavily.

“Babe, can I make you some ginger tea?” He had hardly eaten anything at family dinner…

Danny shakes his head and walks toward the stairs. He’s moving like he’s underwater, like every step takes more energy than he has.

She rubs his back once they’re in their bedroom. “Danny, I need you to talk to me.” She hasn’t seen him this broken since Fallujah, and it’s scaring her.

“I couldn’t save him. I…I’m drowning, Linda.”

She doesn’t know what that means, and she’s afraid to ask; so she simply helps him get ready for bed.

When he’s finally asleep two hours later, she sends a text message: “ _Danny said he’s drowning. Is this some sort of code?_ ”

Doc replies in two minutes: “ _Yes. When I was giving him advice about the case, we talked a bit about how he was doing, and I reminded him that he didn’t need to wait ‘till he’s drowning to reach out for help. I didn’t think he’d listen; I’m glad he did. He has an appointment with me this afternoon at 3; don’t let him skip it._ ”

* * *

The rest of the night is filled with nightmares; she hears him hitting the punching bag at 5, then finds him and Jack asleep downstairs, so she hopes they’ve mended things.

Danny won’t look at her, obviously ashamed of his breakdown the night before; but he kisses her goodbye before going to the precinct to finish his paperwork. He texts her to say he’s at Dawson’s, then comes home and throws himself into two minor home improvement projects she’d been asking him to do for months. It’s obvious he’s trying to stay so busy he won’t have time to think.

She tries to get him to talk to her once the kids are in bed; but he won’t, and the fact that he’s just shutting down…he’s not getting angry like he usually does when she tries to get him to talk about his feelings…scares her.

Tuesday morning, he leaves at 4 a.m. for the Reagan Manly Man Camping Trip, Jack’s first one. She’s not sure why they always do it in January, but she knows better than to argue with tradition.

“Please take care of yourself, babe,” she begs and kisses him again.

“Linda, it was just a few nightmares; the camping trip is just what I need to put all of this behind me. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

* * *

But when he comes home early Saturday morning and tells her he’s going to Corporal Russell’s funeral, she knows something isn’t right. He’s gone to victim’s funerals before, but there’s something about his mood that sets off alarm bells.

And then he says he’s going alone.

She pulls his tie out of his hands. “I can come with you, Danny.”

He shakes his head. “Linda, I’ll be fine. I appreciate the offer, but you don’t need to come with me. I’m not gonna…break down or anything. I’m fine.”

She takes his hands in hers. “Danny, you don’t _need_ to go alone. I’m here, and I’m more than happy to go with you, to be there for you.”

He’s still trying to tie, but his hands are shaking. She helps him, resists the urge to smack him when he says, “Linda, I need to do this—alone.”

“Cut the macho crap, Danny, and let me be there for you,” she says, and kisses him passionately.

When they break for air, he groans. “You know I can’t say no to you when you do that. Go get ready.”

She’s glad the boys are at Frank’s for the weekend, especially when Danny has a panic attack during the funeral service.

Mrs. Russell asks them to come to the burial, even though it’s private; and Danny nods. He squeezes her hand so tight it hurts during the playing of Taps. She glances up at his face, which is blank, but his eyes are so sad it makes her want to cry.

She drives them home afterwards, and holds him as he tries to fight back tears.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been eight days since Corporal Russell's suicide-Linda's counting the days, because this case is hitting Danny harder than any other case in his eighteen years as a cop, and she's worried about him. The fact that he's voluntarily going to therapy, talking to Dawson…worries her even more.

He's been home nine years, and she'd suggested therapy, carefully, over the years; but he always shut her down so fast, she didn't push any more.

She checks her watch again. Almost 10 p.m. He'd caught a case during family dinner Sunday, and he hadn't been home since. She'd called him earlier, and he'd said "I told Doc I'd be running late; he said he'd still be at the office. If…if I don't go tonight, babe, I'm never gonna go back, and I…I don't wanna hurt you or the boys, like Corporal Russell hurt his family."

She'd asked him to text her when he got to Doc's, some part of her afraid that that drowning metaphor means Danny's in a much darker place than he's admitting.

She jumps when the door opens, and Danny comes in. He looks exhausted.

He sits down, leans into her embrace. He's almost vibrating with stress, and she rubs his back. "Doc wants me to…tell you about the nightmares. I…I never wanted to burden you with Fallujah."

She kisses him. "It's okay, Danny. You can tell me. I can handle it."

"I can't. Handle it, I mean. You shouldn't have to…"

She kisses him again, trying to calm him. "It's okay, Danny. I love you."

* * *

She bolts awake to him screaming.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at something.

The screaming stops. Damn rules about not touching someone who's having a nightmare or flashback—especially not when that someone is a military vet trained in combat. She reaches over and rubs his back. "You're okay, Danny. You're safe."

Several minutes pass, then he takes a shuddery breath. "L…Linda?"

"Right here, babe. It's all right, Danny. It was just a nightmare. You're safe."

"Dammit," he whispers, and she can hear the tears in his voice

She grabs a tissue from the box on her side, hands it to him. "Shhh, it's okay, I've got you."

"Sorry I woke you," he whispers, sounding ashamed.

She rubs his arm, trying to calm him down. "It's okay. Do you wanna talk about it?"

His whole body tenses at that. "No. Doc thinks I should, dammitall. Stupid shrink."

Her heart breaks as she listens to him. She'd never known he'd been held captive; he hadn't said, Frank hadn't said—or maybe hadn’t known?—she'd never even suspected. What kind of wife did that make her?

Those three days had led to him being the only member of his unit to come home alive.

"They interrogated…" He trails off.

"'Interrogated' meaning 'tortured'?" she asks, clueless.

Suddenly, from hunched and shaking next to her, he's got one arm around her shoulders and the other hand clamped over her mouth.

"Danny!" she begs, but it's muffled, and he probably can't hear her over whatever horrible things he's remembering in his flashback.

She whimpers, tries not to cry, but the tears fall, splashing on his hand.

She's never been afraid of Danny; not in eighteen years of marriage, two deployments to Fallujah, numerous work-related outbursts of anger; but now she is.

Her tears on his hand seems to startle him, and he blinks. "Linda? Linda…O God, Linda…I'm so sorry." He pulls away as quickly as if he'd touched a hot stove. "I'm so sorry, forgive me babe, are you okay?"

She nods, flinching when he pulls her into a hug. "Linda, babe, I'm sorry. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. But you need to talk to Dr. Dawson about this."

He goes for his phone, and she stops him. "Not now; it's 2 a.m. Come here."

She holds him, trembling in fear; and they cry together.

His tears slow first, but he keeps saying "I'm sorry I hurt you," and she realizes he's going into shock. She cups his face in her hands, trying to calm him down. "Danny, I'm okay. Come downstairs with me so I can make you a cup of tea, okay?"

He follows her, still apologizing for hurting her.

She makes a cup of chamomile tea, adds a generous slug of whiskey, makes him drink the whole thing.

Slowly, he stops shaking.

He pushes the mug away, looks at her. "I…I think I need help, Linda."

She nods, rubs his back. "I know. We'll go talk to Dr. Dawson in the morning, okay?"

He nods, goes to sit on the couch, turns on the TV. She grabs the blanket off the armchair, wraps them both in it.

* * *

After their joint session with Doc, then Danny talking to him privately, they spend the day at home, Danny brooding and working on a few home-improvement projects.

He catches a case the next day, and for a few days, he almost seems like his old self—Danny, relentless to catch the bad guys, hotheaded, reckless, and conditioned to think that showing emotion and reaching out for help are incurable signs of weakness.

Until the night she wakes up, seventeen days since Corporal Russell's suicide—and finds Danny sitting on the couch, holding his off-duty weapon, which is pointed steadily at the window.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter 6-12 of “Drowning.” I don’t like this…I really don’t like it, but this is all I could come up with. Sorry**!

* * *

She tries to talk to Danny, but it’s worse than talking to a statue. She calls Frank, paces, calls Doc, paces, tries to talk to Danny again, paces.

Doc gets him reoriented; Frank takes his weapon and puts him on modified; and she hugs him briefly before going upstairs to check on the boys and let Doc have a session with him.

She’s standing in the hallway listening for any sounds from downstairs that would tell her Danny’s in danger, and then she hears the door open and close, and his footsteps coming heavily up the stairs.

He walks straight into her arms, and she holds him tight, worried when his knees buckle. She lowers them both to the floor and rubs his back. “Danny, what’s wrong?”

“So tired.”

“I know. You’ll sleep better in bed than on the floor.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. You didn’t. I’m fine. You just scared me.”

“I really thought you and the boys were in danger, but I was also back in Fallujah. Why’s it all screwed up like that?” he whispers.

“I don’t know, Danny, but staying awake all night isn’t gonna help. Please come to bed.”

He sits on their bed, head in his hands. “I wasn’t gonna kill myself, Linda,” he whispers.

“I wish I could believe you, Danny.”

His head jerks up at that. “You really think…?”

“I think if you had come out of that flashback and been alone…I think you might have.”

His shoulders slump. “What’s wrong with me? Why is all of this crap coming up now? It’s been years.”

“Because you buried it when you first got home, you didn’t give yourself time to process it, you forced yourself to forget it. And now…Corporal Russell’s suicide…forced it to the forefront of your mind.”

He tenses at Russell’s name, and lies down with his back to her.

“It wasn’t your fault, Danny,” she says, feeling him shake.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because you need to believe it.”

He sighs and pulls away from her.

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur of worry.

It’s been four weeks since John Russell’s suicide. She wants to stop counting, but Danny is floundering in an ocean of pain and she doesn’t know how to reach him. Something about counting the days makes it seem like maybe one day she’ll wake up and he’ll be himself again.

She makes sure the boys have finished all their laundry, and goes upstairs. She hears puking in the master bath, and knocks on the door. “Danny, you okay in there?”

He groans, and she open the door. “Danny?”

“Stupid anti-depressant. All it’s doing is making me throw up everything I ate.”

She sits down, rubs his back. “Give it a few days, Danny, you’ll get used to it.”

He shakes his head. “Throwing up with bruised ribs hurts like hell. I don’t know why Erin went at me like that.”

“Because you’re scaring her.”

He sighs. “Dad talked to me before we left. He’s pissed about the anti-depressants. I’m sure he’ll dig up some obscure section of the detective guide, say I can’t work while I’m on pills—not even desk duty. And what if I’m still on them when I get back to full duty? Might as well kill myself because who am I if I’m not a cop?”

She slaps him. “Don’t say that, Danny! Don’t ever say that again! Don’t even think it!”

“I am thinking it, Linda. I can’t stop…” He throws up again, and she rubs his back.

She finally gets him to lie down again, and whispers into his ear all night how much she needs him to stay.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This picks up where the last chapter ends. Chapters 18-30 of “Drowning.” I hadn't planned this...but Happy Valentine's Day!

* * *

She watches Danny sleep that night, and thinks about all the stuff she learned (well, didn’t learn) about male depression in nursing school.

The biggest load of crap she’d ever heard was “Men don’t get depressed.” That was bull$#!+ if she’d ever heard any.

She thinks about the years since Danny had come home from his second tour. The excessive force complaints, the injuries from punching walls or filing cabinets, the too-long hours he spent at work, the laughter that slowly died away.

How she missed his laugh! He’d been a jokester in high school, fun, easy-going. After his second tour, she only ever saw this lighthearted side of him when he was with his family. Then Joe died, and…that laughter disappeared completely.

“I’m sorry, Danny,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t see how much you were hurting, didn’t get you help when you first came home, didn’t stand up to your family’s whole bull$#!+ attitude toward therapy. I’m so sorry.”

He shifts in his sleep and wakes up with a gasp of pain. She gently holds him still. “Shhh, you’re okay, babe. You just moved the wrong way, jostled your ribs a little. Let me get you another ice pack,” she says, and sits up.

He grabs her hand. “Don’t leave!”

Her heart breaks and she sinks back down next to him, places a gentle hand over his heart. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about it. I wasn’t having a nightmare for once. Stupid ribs. How long are they gonna take to heal?”

“Give ‘em a few more weeks. How was driving today?”

He shrugs, winces. “It was okay. I’m not dizzy anymore. Just wish Erin hadn’t beaten me up last week.”

“I wish she hadn’t, too, but you scared her.”

He nods. “Can you go get that ice pack now? I’m okay. I promise I won’t get up.”

She gets him the ice pack and puts it on his ribs after gently feeling to make sure he hadn’t injured himself worse.

He groans, and she strokes his hair until he’s asleep.

She’s read a few articles on the Internet lately about male depression, and she’s glad something is being done to fix the gap, because now that she’s actually seeing it…she thinks Danny’s been depressed for years, only she was too blind to see it.

She hopes Frank and Jamie and Erin and Henry get their heads out of their @$$#$ now.

* * *

She relaxes a little bit when Danny actually does his homework from Doc, and even more when he gets up earlier than normal to go on a power-walk with her around the block before work. Maybe he’s finally turning a corner.

Except when he calls her Thursday night from Doc’s, and apologizes for not being “the tough macho” cop she married, and apologizes that she has to “put up with” him…that terrifies her, because it sounds like he’s saying goodbye. And then he asks her to drive him home, and he’s reaching out, asking for help, so that has to be a good sign, right?

She gets the boys packed for their long weekend at Frank’s…tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, and she and Danny are going to do something romantic at home, alone, after he gets off work.

They leave Doc’s office hand-in-hand. She turns her back for a split second to get the elevator, and Danny’s gone, and the door to the stairs is slamming, and she screams his name.

She stands there, sobbing, barely able to understand Doc when he comes running out of his office, and she calls Frank and begs him to come, and she holds on to the pillar like it’s the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

She sobs into Frank’s arms when he gets there, paces, prays, and then finally the door opens and Danny walks out and collapses in her arms.

She holds his hand as Frank’s detail drives them to the hospital, Doc chatting amiably with Jim Nuciforo.

When they get to the hospital, she answers the questions that she can answer, because Danny isn't responding to anyone right now, and then he falls asleep as if he's in their bed at home, and she paces the tiny room, wanting to shake him awake and ask him how can he sleep so peacefully when he almost jumped off a roof four hours ago?

He wakes up around 5 a.m., and he's panicking, and she holds him. "I'm right here, I didn't leave, I'm right here, Danny."

There are more questions and interviews and paperwork, and she's been on the other end of this process before, never here as the concerned family member; and she wants to grab the cheery red-headed doctor and shake him and demand how he's going to save her husband.

* * *

  
When they’re finally, _finally_ , **finally** alone at Frank’s house, she’s sitting on the bed playing with her wedding ring while Danny digs through the duffel bag Jamie had brought him.

It’s Valentine’s Day. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Danny had tried to kill himself last night, and she wants to slap him for thinking that she’d be better off, that she’d be happier, without him.

She wants to hold him and kiss him and tell him how much she loves him, but he’s shut down since they got back from the hospital. Being asked ten million times by twenty different people after you almost killed yourself will do that to you, she guesses.

Danny suddenly chokes on a sob, and she goes to him, pulls him close. He struggles, tears at the collar of the dress shirt, his mouth moving like he’s trying to gasp, but nothing’s happening. She rubs his back. “It’s okay, Danny, it’s okay. Just breathe, babe. It’s okay. Let it out, babe.”

He shakes his head. His face is turning purple, and she unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, takes exaggerated breaths. “Danny, you gotta breathe, babe. Please. With me.”

Her heart breaks when he crumples into her lap, sobbing and gasping. She holds him tightly, rubs his back, runs her fingers through his hair. “O Danny, shhh….I’m here, I’m here, babe. It’s gonna be okay. Please try to calm down.”

She sings to him…the first two verses of “Danny Boy” (because no way is she singing about death and burial when her husband almost killed himself last night), and then the song they’d danced to at their wedding, “Everything I Do, I Do it For You”—but she changes the words from “You can’t tell me it’s not worth dying for” to “You can’t tell me it’s not worth living for.”

After breakfast, she coaxes him into a shower. She’s surprised when he sits on the shower chair without making a fuss, and she washes his back, trying not to cry when she sees just how much weight he’d lost. The ER doc had said he’d lost 20 pounds, but it hadn’t really…she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before now.

He flinches, and she kisses the top of his head. “What’s wrong?”

“’M sore. Everything hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs.

* * *

  
Henry and she take turns sitting with Danny throughout the rest of the day, and Doc has two more brief but intense sessions with him; and Linda is relieved when it’s finally just her and Danny, alone, in his old room, for the rest of the night.

He’s shivering a little in his blue USMC sweats, and she tucks the blanket around his shoulders. “I’m sorry I ruined Valentine’s Day,” he whispers.

“You didn’t, babe. You’re still here, with me. That’s all that matters.”

“But…I tried to kill myself. I ruined Valentine’s Day. Why aren’t you pissed?”

“Because I love you. Because all that matters is that we’re together. Dinner and chocolate and making love to my handsome husband…we can do that anytime. But I can’t live without you, Danny. Right now the only things that matters is that you’re here, with me.”

He sighs shakily, reaches for her hand.

She holds it, kisses him gently. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” he whispers.

“Love you most,” she says, and rubs his back till he’s asleep.


End file.
